As he waits outside the NCIS building, Schuyler Harris checks his watch. The car for the duty agent who will be taking him to the airport was due ten minutes ago. He doesn't think he can miss another flight today. He already missed two earlier today. The first was due to a long briefing with Fornell and several FBI agents. The second was because Fornell remembered another slew of follow-up questions right before Harris left.
Harris still can't believe he is standing where he watched Ziva David's takedown mere hours ago. It was impressive, in a way. Watching Tony DiNozzo somehow end up as a hostage and save himself in the same breath with a slew of FBI agents watching from the sidelines. Harris can still feel his heart pounding out of his chest, how on reflex he reached for a weapon he no longer carries. Sometimes, he still feels like a field agent.
He checks his watch again. The duty agent is twelve minutes late now. Any later and he'll be on his third missed flight. And here, he was always told the third time's a charm. He sighs loudly, his breath escaping in huge, white puffs that linger towards the dark sky. The time is well after rush hour and if he misses this flight, he'll be stuck in DC until at least tomorrow morning.
That's if the airline even lets me rebook my flight again.
He needs to get home quickly to brief his boss about the newest findings of his investigation. There are certain conversations that can't be had over the phone. And Harris' lingering questions about the director of NCIS and how he handled Harris' investigations sure is one of them. Harris only hopes his boss will be curious, understanding even. His boss tends to be a reasonable man, but he plays politics with the best of them. A part of Harris worries he'll be told his hunch is nothing more than a fishing expedition.
I won't know until I try.
Harris is lost, deep in his own mind, when a pool car arrives at the curb. Harris dips to check on the driver. Instead of the bearded face of the duty agent he'd been expecting, he finds a silver-haired older man that he recognizes all too well.
Swallowing hard, he shakes his head resignedly. It's too late to find another ride. He opens the backseat to slide his roller case inside. Then, he folds his body into the front seat with the laptop bag between his legs. The air inside the car is colder than it was outside, and Harris is suddenly freezing.
Jethro Gibbs doesn't say a word.
He puts the car in gear before pulling away from the curb. The car is as silent as a grave with only the gentle purr of the engine and the muffled city sounds to serve as conversation. Harris isn't the type of person to desperately need to fill the silence. Instead, he tends to revel in it, but there is something about just how silent it is that sets him on edge. Gibbs might be a comrade in the quiet, but Harris doesn't want the company tonight.
As they head towards the highway, Gibbs keeps his eyes on the road. The darkened building slink past.
"Dulles?" Gibbs asks suddenly.
Harris almost forgot the man wasn't a mute.
"Yeah," he says. "I forget which terminal. I've had to switch my flight a few times today."
All Gibbs offers is a slight twitch to his mouth.
The ride passes slowly, quietly as the scenery changes around them. Dull, dark concrete building slowly turn into desolate stretches of road as Gibbs merges onto the Beltway. It must be later than Harris thought because traffic is thin.
"Heard what you did for McGee," Gibbs says suddenly.
Harris blanches, his good eye widening. "Who…who told you?"
"No one," Gibbs says as though it's the end of it.
"Did Iggy say something?"
"Like she'd tell me anything." Gibbs scoffs good-naturedly. "She likes Fornell better."
"I thought she hated Fornell," Harris says.
Gibbs half-smiles, nodding.
"Then how did you find out?" Harris turns in his seat. "No one was supposed to know. I could lose my job if it gets out."
"DiNozzo said he took McGee back to talk to you," Gibbs says.
Harris leans his head against the headrest, closing his eyes. Whatever fight he rhad emaining drains completely from his body and he is suddenly exhausted.
"Aw, crap," he mutters. Then he says louder: "Are you planning to report me?"
"I'm not gonna tell." Gibbs chuckles. "Rule Four."
Harris feels like he should know what that means, but he decides not to ask. When Gibbs doesn't say anything, Harris looks over. Gibbs' jaw his set, his eyes steady on the road ahead. From his expression, he is a man used to keeping secrets. For some reason, Harris believes he can trust this man he barely knows.
They take the rest of the ride in silence. As the car draws closer to Dulles, the weight of his investigation begins to take hold of Harris. It is like icy fingers clutching at his throat, threatening to strangle him. He never really thought about what the implications could mean.
"Agent Gibbs," Harris says.
Gibbs doesn't speak, just inclines his head.
"How much do you trust Director Vance?" Harris continues.
The ensuing silence is deafening now. Gibbs takes his eyes off the road for a half-beat, glancing disbelievingly at Harris as if the IA agent could be messing with him. When he looks back to the road, Harris clutches the strap to his laptop bag. His knuckles go white against the fabric.
"What's on your mind?" Gibbs asks.
Harris purses his lips, still uncertain. He looks at Gibbs and decides, if anything, he might need another ally if his boss doesn't act like he is hoping.
"Director Vance didn't handle my investigation like he was supposed to." Harris pauses, but Gibbs stays quiet, so he continues: "He moved up the meeting with Ziva today. I don't know if he knew about the FBI coming to arrest her, but it almost seems like he was giving her a chance to run. He called the FBI to facilitate the release of her handler, Mizrachi. He didn't believe me when I said I suspected that she set a bug in my room." His knuckles ache where he grips his bag. "He ordered me to stand down instead of warning Agent McGee that Ziva David might be coming for him."
Gibbs offers a distempered grunt, but Harris doesn't know what that means. They arrive at his terminal, but Harris doesn't exit the car right away.
"You'll tell your boss." Gibbs' response is a statement, not a question.
"I intend to." Harris glances towards the terminal. "But if he opts not to look into it..."
"I'll see what I can do."
When Harris looks back to Gibbs, he is surprised by the expression on the older man's face. His eyes tell stories of a life lived many times over. For a moment, Harris wonders what horrors Gibbs faced when he was a Marine and in the time after. Gibbs just stares at Harris with those ice blue eyes that make him feel as though Gibbs is trying see into his soul. As though he is trying to measure the man by looks alone.
"I can handle it on my own," Harris says.
Gibbs shakes his head. "After what you did for my team, I owe ya a favor."
Harris attempts a smile, but it comes off crooked from the scar. "Thank you, sir. But with all due respect, I hope to never be in a position where I need to collect. I'll look into it after I speak with my boss, but I just needed someone else to know what I suspect is happening."
"Did you tell Fornell?"
Harris is already climbing out of the car. "Thanks for the ride, Agent Gibbs."
